


Seven Times the Ares Crew Borrowed Clothing

by strifechaos



Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:39:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8879839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strifechaos/pseuds/strifechaos
Summary: Just like it says on the tin!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thisissirius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius/gifts).



It starts because Martinez and Watney want to go to a ballgame, Beck’s only problem with that is that it’s currently spring and still freezing. 

Beck hadn’t brought a jacket when he’d left, and the dash from his car to the inside of Johanssen’s house had been frigid. He’s talking --balls crawling back up into his body, frigid.

Lewis, ever the model leader, having picked up that Beck had yet to agree to go to the baseball game, sent his a look, eyebrow cocked up and lips pursed. Martinez picks up on what’s going on too and flaps a hand at him.

“Come on, man! The Honey badgers are going to knock the Red Eye Babies into next week,” he mock punches the air like a boxer in his prime, “And then Whiney Watney is gonna owe me a hundred bucks!” Martinez crows, he turns away from Beck to send Watney a patronizing smirk.

“Whoa – first off, it’s the Red Tail Hawks,” Watney corrects, shrugging off Martinez’ jabs, “And if anyone is gonna have red eyes its gonna be you -- from all the crying you’ll be doing once my Hawks cream those overgrown gophers you call a team! Second off, and most importantly, it was twenty dollars not one-hundred!” 

Johanssen, pulls her jacket on as she stirs the pot. “I see you’re already backing down from your team already, Watney, not even willing to wager a hundred dollars on their chances of winning.” 

Watney clutches at his chest as if grievously wounded by Johanssen’s paring shot, he slumps down against Vogel.

“If only your precious Cubs could see you now.” Vogel intoned, shaking his head, solemn.

“Beck?” Lewis rolls her eyes at her crew’s shenanigans, and drags the rest of the crew back to the original issue. She unfolds her arms from across her chest, and steps towards him, an all too perceptive gaze lingering as she waits for Beck to break and answer her unasked question.

Unintentionally, Beck crosses his arms across his own chest, defensive. “It’s freezing outside.”

Martinez shoots up from the couch and tackles Beck firmly draping himself across the surgeon. “Don’t worry, doc, I won’t let you freeze.”

Johanssen starts complaining about the treatment of her couch, Martinez flattens himself against the surgeon, and Beck wishes he’d just suffered through the cold.

“I think I’d rather be cold if it meant you weren’t squashing my balls,” Beck wheezes, wrenching Martinez’ elbow out of his gut.

Watney chuckles, as he and Vogel step up to heave the pilot off their doctor. Watney reaches back down and hauls Beck to his feet, hand lingering on Beck’s arm. 

“You ok, Beck?” Johanssen asks. She lingers next to Watney, and Beck is a little embarrassed by their concern, but also a little happy.

“Yeah, I’m good. Let’s go.”

“I’ve got an extra hoodie in my trunk you can borrow.” Watney offers, a smirk pulling at his lips, and Beck just knows he’s going to turn bright red by whatever joke Mark is about to drop. 

He does. 

“After all, we wouldn’t want you to freeze your balls off after Martinez tried to crush them.”

“Thanks.” Beck mumbles, praying his face isn’t turning red at Mark mentioning the status of his balls.

Johanssen bumps her hip against Beck as they walk out towards the driveway, winking to include him in on the joke. “You sure you wanna wear whatever Watney’s got languishing in his gym bag? It probably reeks.”

Watney points an accusing finger in her direction, “I’ll have you know that is the reek of a man trying to keep trim so that his crew has some eye candy for their mission into space!”

“You’ve got my gym socks in there?” Martinez chortles.

“Don’t worry baby, I kept your jockeys in the glove box, I wouldn’t let Becky get his mitts on those!”

“Hell freezing over wouldn’t make me touch your underpants, Martinez.” Beck’s stone cold deliver has Johanssen in stitches and even the commander cracks a smile.

“That’s what you’re saying now; just wait until my Honey Badgers win, then you’ll be begging me to drop my panties.”

Watney pops the trunk open and to Beck’s relief, doesn’t start digging through his gym bag but a stack of laundry that’s neatly folded in a bin. He hands Chris a purple hooded sweatshirt with ‘Northwestern University’ printed across the chest, the university’s ‘N’ logo displayed prominently, albeit faded from years of wear. The sweater has to be at least a size bigger than Chris’s own wardrobe, and has since been stretched out. Beck feels a little bit like a teenager getting overexcited about wearing the football captain’s lettermen jacket, but it only takes a brisk breeze blowing across the lawn for him to swallow back any halfhearted refusal of Mark’s gesture, he sternly reminds himself that this is just a friend lending another friend a shirt to keep warm, and he shrugs on the hoodie. 

As he predicted, the sleeves go pass his fingers and the hem almost hits him mid thigh, but he’s instantly warmer and the rich smell of Watney’s cologne and fabric softener comforts him more than he’ll admit. He instantly wants to never give it back.

“Ready for some hot dogs and beers, maybe even Martinez crying when the Hawks shred his poor, pitiful excuse of a baseball team?”

It’s the first time Chris finds himself wearing something of the team’s, but it’s hardly the last time they all share amongst themselves.

-0-

The physical trainers at NASA don’t play around, with decades of research showing just how dangerous space can be on the human body, especially for the duration of their mission; Ares 3 has been sweating for at least two hours every day for half the year. NASA wants to make sure they’re at the peak level of fitness before sending them up to the Hermes and Mars. 

So they are all undergoing a pretty grueling physical regime, Beck’s trainer seems determined to bring him within an inch of collapse every session. He’s covered in sweat, red in the face and pretty sure this is It, this is how he’s gonna die. His lungs are just going to combust like two party balloons and with how exhausted his legs are he won’t be able to move to get help.

Watney, the bastard, looks like a goddamn Nike ad, over there running on the treadmill with Johanssen. Beck is pretty sure they’re gossiping about how everyone looks in their workout gear. The cackles and loud numbers they keep calling out don’t dissuade him in the least. The only balm is that he’s been scoring pretty high, that or Johanssen really digs Vogel’s bright, neon orange shorts. Watney certainly does, claiming he needs a pair of his very own before the week is out.

Lewis and Martinez are across the gym, deep in a weird military battle for who can do the most chin ups, Navy or Army. Again. Lewis had Martinez beat with one-handed pushups and Martinez had won when it came to squats, claiming his ability came because his wife loved her some booty. It had simultaneously won him the competition and made Beck never want to do another squat as long as he lived.

Watney and Johanssen have been cranking out the miles on the treadmill, today is a less intense workout for them. Bastards.

At the very least, Vogel is sweating it out with him. The crew had been paired up with workout buddies, and their chemist has been paired up with Beck, so they’re both dying together today.

Fuck burpees.

After Lewis has handed Martinez his ass at chin ups, 401 in thirty minutes versus his 389 in the same time, they come over to where the crew does cool down. A few minutes later, Trisha, Beck’s trainer, lets him and Vogel, join them. Watney and Johanssen join them when they’re about halfway through.

Beck feels one hundred percent more human after a shower and changing into some jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt. Johanssen comes streaking passed him with something bundled up in her arms. Beck has learned the hard way it’s better just to not ask. He finds out a couple minutes later when Watney literally comes streaking pass, dripping from the shower and hollering at the top of his lungs.

Beck knows better than to get involved, but he still shoots a questioning look at Martinez.

“She got his street clothes.”

Beck winces. Mark has a bad habit of not remembering to lock his locker, and this isn’t the first time that his crewmates have taken advantage to play pranks on him. Normally as a rebuttal to a prank he’s pulled on them, so while Lewis officially tells them to rein it in, she normally stays out of it. Watney, being the easiest going, is a pretty big target, though he doesn’t take it lying down.

“Maybe Vogel will lend you his spare pair of shorts, since you want some of your own so badly,” Martinez cackles.

“Da?” Vogel, holds out a vibrant pair of Barbie pink compression shorts, not a trace of a smirk on his face, even though Beck is positive that the German is crowing just as loudly as Martinez at Watney being left with only his sweaty gym clothes as the alternative.

Beck expects that Watney will grumble, take the pants and then later murder their computer expert. Instead, Watney lights up and snaps the shorts from Vogel’s outstretched hand and slips them on. “Hey, thanks, man!” 

He twists and turns as soon as he’s got them on, and it completely distracts Beck from whatever Martinez says-- so sue him those shorts are really, really clingy. And Mark isn’t a small man. . . at all. Those thighs make Beck want a few more minutes in the shower. He knows that they’ve been working out pretty much constantly since their selection for Ares 3 but Mark is cut, and his abs are making Beck’s brain short out. He thrusts one of his own spare shirts at the botanist in hopes of stopping his brain from melting; Watney sends him a goofy grin and slips it on.

It shouldn’t have been hotter, but Beck realizes his mistake ten seconds too late. Watney’s arms and shoulders pull the fabric tight, and Beck feels a lurch in his gut like a fish hook. Beck should not be attracted to a man wearing Barbie pink shorts. It should not be physically possible. His niece has Barbie pink shorts. But Watney lives to make Beck’s world tilt on axis it seems.

 

Vogel’s wife sends Watney a pair of his own neon shorts, lime instead of pink, and they’re a constant distraction for Beck during workout sessions. Especially when Johanssen and Watney do circuits; Beck was on lunge away from tripping on the treadmill and spraining something important. It’s enough to wipe the fact that he never gets his t-shirt back from his memory completely.

-0-

 

“This ship is freezing,” Beck mutters, hunching next to Watney as he slurps his coffee. The coffee helps some but Watney puts off enough heat to be confused with a furnace, and Beck plans on taking full advantage of that fact. It’s merely a bonus that it happens to be the guy Beck wouldn’t mind climbing like a tree.

Watney smiles at him, dimples flashing. He leans back into Beck so that they’re pressed from hip to shoulder on the icy bench. “I don’t know, it’s not so bad.”

Beck knows if his face wasn’t already red from the temperature he’d been fighting off a blush. 

“Pffft – says the guy from Boston!” Johanssen cries out. She’s bundled up from head to toe, long ridiculous Doctor Who scarf around her neck, and a huge knitted hat hugging her skull, short wisps of hair poking out. She’s got fingerless gloves with mitten caps, there is some sort of math joke printed across the knuckles, only her and Vogel had laughed. Johanssen, despite the freezing wind, is perched against the rail of the boat. Beck doesn’t remember whose great idea it was to go for a boat ride given the frigid temperature. Why are all their outings when it’s so cold?

Vogel had ducked into the observation deck with Martinez earlier, supposedly to look at the controls but Beck isn’t a fool, he knows they’re escaping the weather. Lewis is sitting on a bench a few feet away, bundled up in a North Face jacked, hood up, and sipping her coffee, completely composed, as if they were on a yacht in the middle of summer. Beck is more convinced than ever that she’s a complete bad ass.

Beck wishes he hadn’t of scoffed when he saw Beth kitted out in every piece of winter clothing she had. His own jacket and gloves had seemed like overkill until the boat had left the port. Once they’d made it to open water the boat had picked up speed and now a brisk breeze claws at Beck’s cheeks and drags down his neck. He doesn’t know how Johanssen can stand to be so close to the rail.

“You’re admitting that you can’t hack it in the cold, Johanssen?” Watney smirks as she sends him half a peace sign in response.

Watney leans further into Beck’s personal space, breath puffing out in a visible cloud due to the temperature, he unwraps his Hufflepuff scarf from his neck and starts to wind it around Beck’s.

Chris is about to protest, he opens his mouth and everything but it’s warm and soft and smells like Mark’s cologne, something subtle and woodsy. And he’s so unbelievably frozen at this point, plus Beck doesn’t want to admit it another living soul but he’s ridiculously pleased that Mark cares that he’s cold. The engineer had yet to mentioned how Beck still had his Northwestern sweater and that he’d like it back some day, which Beck is trying very hard to remember isn’t permission to keep it forever. Beck wouldn’t pin his acceptance of the Hogwarts scarf on any one reason but the overwhelming desire to be closer to Mark.

“We wouldn’t want to lose our surgeon before we head out into space.” Watney leans back against the bench, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, still pressed against Beck.

“Thanks, man,” Beck huffs. 

“Besides, who else would Johanssen and I watch during workouts if you were out sick?”

Beck almost splashes his coffee down the front of the scarf in shock.

-0-

 

“You’ll give yourself wrinkles, if you keep staring that hard.” Johanssen says, flicking her magazine’s page, she pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head to shoot Beck with a knowing look. The day trip to the beach had been Beck’s idea, tired of freezing his nuts off he’d put his foot down. They needed to spend some time together where he could be warm.

His cheeks flush at Johanssen’s crack, but he jerks his gaze away from Watney splashing around in the water. “I --- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s not even convincing to him. Maybe all the sun had melted his brain, his common sense for sure if he’s slipped enough to be caught out creeping on Mark. But in his defense those abs, and water sluicing down from his shoulders, even the muscles in his back flexing – no jury with eyes would find him guilty.

The snort she makes is possibly the least lady-like noise ever if the glare the older lady down the beach sends them is anything to go by, though Beck is more impressed that she didn’t manage to get the rest of the crew’s attention with the outburst. Johanssen is compact, Martinez insists it’s because evil comes in small packages, but for all that she’s the smallest crew member, Johanssen is loud. 

“Yeah, right,” she says, rolling her eyes so hard that Beck’s a little worried for her. “You should probably just bang him and get it out of your system; otherwise that NASA shrink will have a field day.” She leans up from her chair, adjusting her coverall and pushing her sunglasses back down. “We can’t afford to give either of you up, but if you drag this out it’s just going to come out in the worst way possible, Chris.”

He shrugs. He knows how pointless it is to think about doing more than just look at Mark Watney. Being a surgeon and an Ares 3 candidate, Beck knows he’s a fantastic catch, but their chance to go into space – that’s once in a lifetime. Even thinking about risking all that just because Mark’s a fantastic catch too is dangerous.

“There’s nothing to do, Beth. I’m, I’m not gonna --- he doesn’t . . . we don’t stand a chance.” What relationship could compare to space travel?

Chris bites his lip, hands twisting in his lap as he glances down the beach, up at the sky, to the vendor wandering the beach – anywhere that isn’t Beth’s sad eyes. He wants to dive under the waves and never surface. Johanssen’s lack of filter had that effect on him; he’s hoping it’ll stop by the return trip from Mars.

“It’s nothing just leave it,” he begs. Maybe if he says it enough, he’ll believe it too. 

The cold burs clutching at his guts are because he’s had too many slushies while enjoying the sun and watching the guys to dive-bombing and dunking one another in the water.

Sensing she’s touched a nerve, Beth eases up, for her. “Listen, it’s not a big deal -- Mark, I mean I can see the appeal. He’s a hot guy.” Chris tenses next to her, pulling away from her touch, she rushes to add, “And you’re a sweetheart, Grumpy Cat!” Chris wishes Vogel had never given him the nickname, that German traitor. He was supposed to be Beck’s workout buddy. 

After a few beats, she adds, “I’m sure if you guys wanted to you could give it a go,” Beth doesn’t know how to say it gently so just blurts it, “but you know that they won’t let either of you go up if that happens.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, it feels like his lungs have collapsed.

Beth groans at the melodrama, not great with people she has a short limit for personal drama and Chris has hit it. Beth stands up and reaches out to grab Beck’s hand, using it to pull him out of his chair, as well. “Listen, this isn’t about moody-sad-time. It’s fun time! For once somewhere WARM, thanks for that by the way – so let’s spend some time together away from all the NASA bureaucratic bullshit.”

She plucks off her sunglasses, ridiculous and huge, and sets them on Chris’ face, sliding them into place, gently. It’s her way of apologizing, and not one to hold a grudge, Chris lets her.

“So these are gonna help me find a new guy?” Beck flicked at the glasses but they remained firmly lodged on his face.

“Well at least this way your heart eyes aren’t so obvious,” Beth says looping her arm through Beck’s to drag him down the beach.

-0-

“This is just like the summer after band camp before seventh grade!”

Chris wants to tackle his sister from across the room, anything to get her to shut up and to stop her from where she’s going with this story. Mark, like a shark scenting blood in the water, perks up and zeros in on Catherine Beck. Sensing an audience she continues.

“Chris had just realized that –“

“Band camp is for losers?” Mark interrupts, a hatefully attractive grin stretched across his face. Chris scowls darkly at him.

“Don’t be a brat Marky, just because you can’t play an instrument to save your life,” Chris scolds playfully.

Mark sticks his tongue out. “I can think of one instrument I can—“

“NO!” If Chris hears the words ‘skin flute’ in front of his sister his balls will permanently crawl into his body. If Mark wasn’t already their engineer and botanist, Chris is sure that NASA would have him listed as Bad Joke Sponge on their crew roster. Martinez had already made a similar joke the other day about instruments, and Chris knows Mark has been hunting for a chance to drop his new line.

Mark pouts, arms crossed over his chest. It’s adorable. Chris wants to take his picture and post it on their NASA twitter feed. Even with the huge hobbit feet slippers he’d borrowed after soaking his socks, Mark Watney is like a geeky wet dream. All strong calves and thick forearms. The boyish smiles don’t hurt.

-0-

Even with the advances in technology that have come about to make space travel for the Ares missions possible, there are still limits. Notably there haven’t been any breakthroughs that have allowed the crew to wash their laundry yet so all clothing is worn far longer than a single sol. So even though it still feels like a gut punch, the Commander had divided up Watney’s clothing and split it amongst the crew to prolong their own wearable collections. 

It isn’t until Lewis hands him the blue sweater that Mark had favored, that Beck realizes his broken heart hadn’t been as subtle as he’d hoped. Even now he wants to protest, deny that he shouldn’t have this piece of Mark but the selfish, sad broken part of him just clutches it to his chest, knuckles white and fingers hooked tight.

Lewis doesn’t say anything, her mouth pursed and a pang of guilt clawing anew no doubt. Beck wishes he could reach out and say it wasn’t her fault, but the words are clogged up in his throat and won’t come out. 

Just a weak “Thanks, Commander,” slips out. She seems to sense where he’s coming from or maybe she’s just dealing with her own issues, since after leaving Mars they all have Mark Issues, so instead of making him talk about it like Johanssen sometimes tries, Lewis just nods and leaves him.

Chris doesn’t focus on how it soon becomes his most worn piece of clothing; most of them react that way. Even when it comes time to incinerate the dirty laundry or use stuff for experiments, it’s never something of Mark’s. They’re all one giant ball of dirty laundry hoarders but Chris can’t call them on it, make them deal with it, not when he’s wearing Mark’s sweater almost every third or fifth sol. The shirts and socks and pants are just a way of coping with their sixth crew member being stolen from them, a way to keep him close even though he’s been lost to them.

And then Mark is alive.

He’s alive and they abandoned him. On Mars. Alone for months, with only his own wits to keep him alive.

The questions of what they could have done differently to save Mark come back to haunt them all. Lewis is like a zombie and Martinez isn’t joking, Vogel has become even more stoic than before, and Johanssen just keeps running on the treadmill like it’ll bring her workout partner back. They have a hard time coping; and Beck struggles as the only medical personal on board to he get them to all function, even as he’s having a hard time functioning himself. Lewis, strong willed and determined bounces back first and once they get to talk to Mark the rest of the crew seems to come back to themselves.

Beck still has the sweater, though now he tries to only wear it after a particularly trying sol. It’s no coincidence that he’s wearing it when they decide to fight NASA and go back for Mark, not is it when they’re each wearing a part of Mark’s wardrobe when they finally bring him back to Hermes.

-0-

Chris tumbles out of bed and reaches for some pants before headed towards the kitchen for coffee. Last night had been crazy; the entire crew had gotten together and attempted to drink all the alcohol in the bar. Mark had crashed as soon as they’d got home, and Chris had followed not long after. Teaching classes at NASA though had made Mark more of a morning person, in that he still had to be kicked out of bed most mornings but at least he was functional enough to make breakfast.

He was standing in front of the stove when Chris made it to the kitchen, a pan of eggs cooking. Chris zeroed in on the mug on the counter, steam still rising from the lip. He cupped the mug in both hands, the welcome warmth seeping into him, the smell kicking his brain awake even further. He took a few slugs of coffee before his mind came completely online.

Chris came up behind Mark and wrapped an arm around his waist, leaning up to nibble on his neck and shoulder. Mark turned and smiled.

“Finally awake, Grumpy Cat?”

Chris rolled his eyes, but leaned in to give Mark a kiss. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Mark shrugged his shoulders, still so wide that they distract Chris as Mark turns back to the pan. “I’m sure you’ll think of an appropriate way to thank me later.”

Chris moves so that he was standing next to Mark instead of behind, he swapped which hand was holding his coffee and reached around so his now free hand could wrapped around Mark’s back, fingers settling against his hip. “Is there a reason you decided to wear my boxers, Watney, or were you not awake enough to notice?”

Mark immediately says, “I was sleep walking!” 

Chris rolls his eyes. So he’d done it deliberately. 

“They look good.”

Flustered, Mark is caught off guard by Chris’ easy acceptance and then he just looks pleased. “Good.”

Chris leans in to kiss him on the cheek. Some days he’s not sure how he ended up with this goober but he’s never disappointed. “You keep this up, it’s just going to be bacon and coffee and sex for breakfast.”

“I could live with that.”

Mark smirks, taking the eggs off the burner and shutting the stove off. “You know, there’s something I’d love to see you in, Chris Beck.”

He will deny the goofy smile until the day he dies. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“You’re birthday suit.”

Chris groans and leans away, “You know I think I just got my appetite for breakfast back.”

“What?” Mark looks like a bewildered child. “Oh come on! That was hot, you can’t deny that made your engines rev!”

Chris shakes his head, “Sorry to disappoint you, buddy. These eggs look pretty good though.”

Mark pouts. “Tease!” Chris laughs and leans into Mark’s shoulder. “How about if you promise not to try anymore lines on me for the rest of the day, I’ll show you my birthday suit tonight?”

“Deal!” Mark punches the air and looks entirely too pleased with himself, Chris can’t resist. He kisses him again, still so happy that he’s allowed to touch and not just look. Mark immediately melts into his kiss, opening his mouth to deepen it. Chris pulls back, panting a few minutes later, close enough that their breath is still mingling. 

“Maybe, maybe I’ll give you a preview of my suit after breakfast.”

-0-  
The End  
-0-


End file.
